Celeste had never packed a bag so fast in her life.
She wasn't even sure what she was grabbing—just that she needed to move, to go, before the walls of Amelia's apartment started closing in around her.
A sweater. A pair of jeans. Her sketchbook. A handful of paint-stained T-shirts she couldn't imagine leaving behind. Toothbrush. Socks. A worn-out novel she had read too many times but couldn't bear to abandon.
It was ridiculous, the things she thought of in moments like these. As if her entire existence wasn't hanging by a thread. As if she weren't running from something she barely understood.
As if she were real.
She paused, fingers brushing against the zipper of the duffle bag, staring at her wrist. The crack had spread, a thin, delicate fracture running up toward her elbow. It didn't hurt. But it felt like a countdown.
A knock at the door jolted her back into reality.
"It's me," Amelia called.
Celeste exhaled, crossing the room. She opened the door to find Amelia standing there, her own bag slung over her shoulder, her face set in quiet determination. But there was something else beneath it, something Celeste wasn't sure Amelia even realized she was showing—fear.
Not afraid of running. Not fear of the people coming for them.
Fear of losing her.
Celeste swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You ready?"
Amelia nodded, but didn't move. "Are you?"
Celeste hesitated. The truth was—no. She wasn't ready. She wasn't sure she ever would be.
But she couldn't stay.
"I don't think it matters," she admitted.
Amelia's expression softened for just a moment before she nodded again. "Then let's go."
They stepped out into the hallway, where Nathaniel was already waiting, phone in hand, face unreadable. He looked up as they approached, studying them both before giving a curt nod. "The car's downstairs."
Amelia frowned. "Whose car?"
"A friend's," Nathaniel said simply. "One who knows how to keep quiet."
That wasn't exactly comforting, but at this point, Celeste figured trust was a luxury they didn't have time for.
They followed Nathaniel down the stairwell instead of taking the elevator—just in case. Celeste could feel Amelia's tension with every step, her fingers twitching like she was ready to fight off an attack at any moment. The air outside was thick with the smell of rain and pavement, the city still awake, still breathing, oblivious to the storm about to break.
The black car was waiting by the curb.
Nathaniel opened the back door. "Get in."
Celeste hesitated. Something about this moment felt final—like the second she stepped inside, there was no turning back.
Amelia must have sensed it, because she reached out, taking Celeste's hand in hers. Her grip was firm, grounding.
"We're in this together," she said softly.
Celeste looked at her, then at Nathaniel, then back at the apartment building behind them. The life they were leaving.
Then she tightened her fingers around Amelia's and stepped inside.
Nathaniel slid into the passenger seat, nodding to the driver. The man—older, gruff, silent—pulled into the street without a word.
The city blurred past them.
Minutes passed in silence, the hum of the car engine the only sound. Celeste stared at the buildings, the neon lights, the people on the sidewalks who had no idea their world was capable of something impossible. She wondered what it would be like to be one of them. To be normal. To not feel like the ground beneath her could crack at any moment, swallowing her whole. Nathaniel spoke first. "We have a safehouse."
Amelia turned to him sharply. "We?" Nathaniel sighed. "You don't think I've been working alone all these years, do you?"
Celeste frowned. "Who else knows?". Nathaniel hesitated. "People who want to help. People who understand what's at stake."
"Define help," Amelia muttered.
"They want to keep her safe," Nathaniel said. "That's all you need to know for now." Celeste didn't like the vagueness of that, but she also wasn't in a position to argue. A thought struck her. "If you have all these resources," she said slowly, "why didn't you stop them from bringing me here in the first place?". Nathaniel's jaw tightened. He didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"Because I didn't know it had happened."
Silence.
Celeste's breath caught. Amelia straightened beside her. "What do you mean?" Amelia asked.
Nathaniel exhaled sharply. "We've been watching them for years. Trying to stop them. Trying to shut them down. But they worked in the shadows. Every lead we had, every move we made—they were always a step ahead. And then one day…" He glanced at Celeste through the rearview mirror. "They were quiet."
Celeste's pulse quickened. "Because they succeeded." Nathaniel nodded. "By the time we realized, you were already here." Something cold twisted in Celeste's stomach.
She had always thought of herself as an accident. A miracle. Something spontaneous and impossible. But she wasn't. She was the result of years—maybe decades—of planning.
And now that they had made her, now that they knew it was possible. They wouldn't stop at just one. Celeste's fingers curled into fists. Amelia turned back toward Nathaniel. "And what's the plan?" Nathaniel's expression was unreadable. "For now?" A pause. "We run." The weight of it settled over them.
Celeste stared out the window, her heart hammering. Somewhere out there, people were looking for her. And she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay ahead of them.